Wednesday, March 28, 2007

My first few posts on this blog detailed my very first snooping experience where I actually stole Steve's phone, bought a charger, and read his texts. I felt pretty psychotic back then, but that didn't stop me from snooping around a second time. Actually, this time was pure luck. I've been so caught up in my emotional problems for the past few months mpaka all I could see was the total support that Steve has afforded me, totally ignoring anything that he might have said or done to raise an eyebrow.

Last week, we happened to be at my fav coffeeshop just chilling when he asked to use my laptop to check his email. He did and when he was done, I shut the computer off and we left for dinner. I didn't touch my computer again until last night. I got off work late and just needed to go sit at a coffeeshop and de-stress before heading home for the night. I got to the coffeeshop and took out my laptop to check emails. As soon as I clicked on Yahoo! mail, I found myself in Steve's inbox. "What the hell?!" I thought. Usually, once you close the window, Yahoo! automatically logs you out. I was about to sign out of his account and into mine when a thought occured to me. When on earth will I ever find myself logged onto Steve's email account with him nowhere in sight? This was too good of a temptation and even an angel couldn't have resisted.

So I started going through his mails, most of them junk and uninteresting. There was the occasional email from an ex who was now married, but there was nothing surprising there since he'd already told me most of the stuff I read. His inbox was cluttered with useless junk mails and I was bored. I almost logged out when I thought to check his sent mails. I mean, there's no junk in the "sent" folder, right? I saw a couple of emails he'd sent me, friends and then one lone name caught my eye. His last ex before he and I started dating. We've had a fight over this ex once before and the last I heard, they weren't even talking. Then here was this one email he'd sent with this line,

"You know I hate it when you start acting like that. It's been over 24 hours since you called me and I'm tempted to text you but I know I can't and it's driving me crazy. There, are you happy now? I'm going crazy..."

Yes, I have those lines burned into my skull. I was so furious! This was sent on Feb 10 of this year. The weekend when he told me that he needed some time alone to think. At the time, I thought my emotional issues were overwhelming him and he needed his space. Kumbe! I picked up the phone and called him. Nothing. He finally called me at 10:00 p.m. sounding all tired. I was so mad I could barely talk. But, I did manage to ask him if he was "talking" to someone else. He got really defensive and that only served to make me more suspicious.

So, in a few minutes, his ass is gonna show up here and he's going to explain what the hell he thinks he's doing. And, no, I'm not jumping the gun here. The circumstances leading to his break-up with this chick were fishy to begin with. For crying out loud, he'd even proposed to her (I gathered this piece of info from the texts I'd read back in the day, a fact he denied and somehow talked his way out of).

I hadn't thought about this ex-chic of his for months. Infact, trust was no longer an issue and we were both getting pretty serious with this relationship, to the point where our families are involved. The thing that sucks even more is that today is actually our anniversary, what a bummer. I'm gonna have to ask for his phone and see the kind of texts he's been exchanging with this chick. I'm so mad right now. We're definitely headed down the break-up lane.

While my reading that message was totally accidental, this time around I don't feel guilty for finding myself thumping through his inbox. It's gonna save me a lot of trouble. To think we were even considering ways to make the relationship work when I move out of state in fall...bullshit! So for all you in relationships, don't have qualms about occassionally peaking at your significant other's phone/email. I don't see it as a matter of trust or whatever. If I don't have anything to hide, I'd care less whether or not my guy reads my texts/emails. Shit, here he comes.....

Friday, March 09, 2007

You know, I used to be one of those people (read Kenyans) who would marvel at all the seemingly endless mental illnesses that Americans seemed to suffer from. The concept of "mental illness" was as foreign as frappucinos when I was growing up. When you mention the name "mathare", a string of negative connotations and images come flooding to mind. I remember having this study partner when I was a freshman in college. Her parents were divorced, she had been diagnosed with both depression and borderline personality disorder and had been on antidepressants for most of her life. On a good day, she was a fun, smart friend to hang with. When her "craziness" took over, however, it was like staring at an alien. Her constant suicidal tendencies used to scare the shit out of me and her prolonged use of medications had finally started to wear her out. She was an honor student, but by the end of sophomore year, she had dropped out of school and moved in with some random guy she didn't know and her life pretty much went downhill from there. I always thought she was weird and interesting. So fascinated was I with her that I minored in Psychology so I could explore these strange illnesses that I never even knew existed. Little did I know that this would be my chance to start understanding my life.

Flashforward to 2007. I had been sitting at a coffeeshop staring at the same page of my book for hours when a thought entered my head, "you're fucked up". That thought was so clear, I actually thought someone had sneaked in behind me and whispered it in my ear. I shook myself up from the daze and realized that I had no idea what I'd been doing for the past 4 hours of my day. This didn't surprise me one bit. I am used to having blackouts where I'll forget entire parts of my day. I can sit in one spot for 5 hours and not even notice it. When I glance around 5 hours later, it'll feel like waking up from a dream and I'll remember nothing. I used to think this was a normal occurence until I mentioned it to my best friend one time and she gave me a strange look that told me there was definitely something wrong with me. Freudians have a name for this.

Lately, I've been thinking about my life, where I've been, where I am, and where the hell it is I'm headed. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself. Those are the times I try to stay away from my own company. I'll call some friends up and hit the clubs, or lose myself in the art of lovemaking (I really don't know what Steve's thinking still dating me). Some days, however, dragging myself out of bed is an impossible feat. Then there are days when I tell myself that I should use my past as a motivator for becoming a better person and it works for a few months. Those are the times I'll lose myself in volunteer activities, one after the other, until I burn out. Then there are those days when I just need to admit that sure, I've lived a pretty messed up life, but there are others who're more fucked up than I can ever be. Such is the fun of reading books like "Running with Scissors", where rather than sympathize with the character, I laugh out loud and pat myself on the back for managing to escape such a vicious childhood.

So, where was I going with this post? Nowhere, really. Just exploring the possibility that maybe, just maybe, it's time I took my mental health seriously and made that phone call. I have the number saved on my cell, just in case. Yet, it never feels like it's the right time. But really, is there such a thing as "the right time" to come face to face with your demons? My year started off with me drenched in tears. Those tears have turned out to be more prophetic than I could ever have imagined. It's gotten harder and harder to simply "forget", block disturbing images and memories from my mind. It's becoming impossible to feign happiness. More importantly, I'm getting really tired of being enslaved to my past. Yet...